


improbable & beautiful & afraid

by talkwordytome



Series: soft lesbean ratched sickfics [7]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Mildred Ratched Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Whiskey is Curative and No One Can Convince Me Otherwise, Winter, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: in which Mildred & Gwendolyn have a misadventure while ice skating.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Series: soft lesbean ratched sickfics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024666
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	improbable & beautiful & afraid

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from "Starlings in Winter" by Mary Oliver
> 
> this fic takes place in February 1953
> 
> is it crazy that I'm posting this at 2:07 am? perhaps! but right now fic is my coping mechanism and BELIEVE ME, there are worse ones to have.

“You’re _certain_ you really want to do this?”

Mildred has her arms crossed over her chest as she watches Gwendolyn root through cardboard boxes. She walks over to the round attic window that’s always reminded her of a porthole and peers out of it. The snow has stopped falling at least, but it _looks_ cold; the world is oddly quiet and still, muffled under a blanket of powdery white. Gwendolyn, who spent the early part of her life in Connecticut, loves winter and all the activities that go along with it. Mildred, for her part, rather loves _snow_ , but she much prefers _watching_ it from the safe warmth of indoors as opposed to actually braving the elements. She’s a California girl at heart, she supposes.

“Yes, I’m certain,” Gwendolyn says, her head stuck inside a box. “Aha! Found them.”

She picks up the box and carries it over to the old card table near where Mildred stands. It releases a thick cloud of dust when Gwendolyn drops it, and Mildred sneezes. She glares at Gwendolyn from behind her handkerchief as Gwendolyn smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Gwendolyn says, giggling. “But look!” She reaches into the box and pulls out two pairs of ice skates. “They’re a bit old, but they’re still in good condition. And our feet are just about the same size.”

Mildred blows her nose and eyes the skates warily, like they might jump out of Gwendolyn’s hands and bite her. “I’ve never ice skated before.”

“Well of course you haven’t,” Gwendolyn says in her most sensible tone. “You grew up in California. You wouldn’t have had the opportunity.”

“I’ve no idea how to do it,” Mildred says.

“That’s why I’m going to teach you, silly,” Gwendolyn says. She kisses Mildred’s cheek.

Mildred grumbles and wipes the kiss away. “I’m going to fall,” she insists.

“Then I’ll help you get back up.”

“I’ll look _ridiculous_.”

“You’ll look _adorable_ ,” Gwendolyn corrects fondly.

There’s a large pond a few miles from their house that the neighborhood children frequent, and Gwendolyn decides that’s where they’ll go. They bundle up in their warmest outer-layers, and Mildred wears an extra pair of socks to make sure her skates aren’t too loose. The radio plays Rosemary Clooney as they drive, and Mildred giggles helplessly at Gwendolyn’s attempts to sing along. 

They park on a gravel drive about fifty yards from the frozen pond. The sky is a bright, cornflower blue. It’s a cloudless day and the hawkeye sun beams down a faint warmth. Their breath puffs out, white and crystalline in the cold air.

“I’ll race you!” Gwendolyn calls, skates in hand, already bounding ahead.

“Cheater!” Mildred yells, stumbling and laughing as she tries to catch her.

By the time Mildred makes it to the pond Gwendolyn is already wearing her skates. She patiently makes sure Mildred’s are tied tightly and correctly, reassures her that nothing bad will happen if the laces come undone. She helps Mildred stand, and they wobble over to the pond hand in hand. Mildred uncertainly eyes the glassy surface. 

“I won’t let go unless you say it’s alright,” Gwendolyn says. “I promise.”

They clomp onto the ice with as much dignity as they can muster. Gwendolyn is a talented skater, a bit rusty around the edges after years of not practicing, but still undeniably graceful. Mildred clings to Gwendolyn’s arm like a lifeline. They slowly circle the pond a few times, Gwendolyn coaching Mildred to take long strides as opposed to shorter, tentative ones. By the end of their fourth circle Mildred is still holding onto Gwendolyn, but not so tightly, and Gwendolyn can see in her posture that she’s gained new confidence.

“You’re such a quick learner,” Gwendolyn says, pressing a kiss to Mildred’s temple.

Mildred nods but says nothing. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, and she watches her feet as they glide beneath her. 

They’re halfway through a sixth loop when Mildred squeezes Gwendolyn’s arm. “I think…I’d like to try it by myself for a minute,” she says, nervous but determined.

Gwendolyn cocks her head to the side. “Are you sure?” she asks. 

Mildred hesitates but eventually nods. “I won’t learn otherwise,” she says, “and I can’t use you as a crutch every time we do this.”

Gwendolyn’s chest warms with the promise of a _next time_. “I don’t mind,” she says.

Mildred offers her an exasperated look. “Yes, but I do.”

She lets go of Gwendolyn and takes a few cautious strides. When her feet stay under her where they belong she picks up her pace ever so slightly, and then a bit more. Gwendolyn watches, beaming, as Mildred makes her way slowly across the pond, her golden red hair streaming out behind her like a flag.

And then, it happens so quickly that it’s almost like it hasn’t happened at all.

Mildred is there, wobbling in a pair of Gwendolyn’s old skates as she laughs and rolls her eyes at her own clumsiness, and then she isn't. The ice splinters and cracks, and before Gwendolyn has a chance to shout out a warning Mildred has vanished into the freezing water. She bobs to the surface and Gwendolyn can just make out her dark, terrified eyes. 

“ _Gwendolyn_!” Mildred shrieks, her head barely above the water.

Gwendolyn’s panic is so acute, roaring like a fire in her ears, that she doesn’t yell; she doesn’t even blink. She just _moves_. She races over to the pond’s edge and grabs a long stick, then skates over to the hole. Panting, she stops just before the ice gets too weak and extends her stick, desperately hoping it’s long enough. Mildred, her hands shaking furiously, reaches out for it, misses, and sinks a little deeper.

“Mildred,” Gwendolyn says, her voice so calm and clear that at first she doesn’t recognize it as hers, “I can’t move any closer without the ice breaking, and I can’t help you if I’m in the water, too. I need you to grab the stick and hold on. I’ll pull you out. I know you can do it, baby, just reach a little bit further.”

Mildred grabs again and manages to get both hands securely on the stick. Gwendolyn pulls--once, twice, three times, as hard as she can--and then Mildred is lying on the ice next to her: wet and shivering and miraculously, beautifully alive.

Gwendolyn doesn’t waste any time. She half-drags Mildred off the ice and immediately starts stripping off every single extra layer she’s wearing to give Mildred. Mildred coughs and splutters on the water she swallowed.

“You’re...g-going...t-to...get...c-cold,” Mildred chatters through blue lips. 

Gwendolyn produces a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I’m not worried about me, Mildred,” she says, putting her hat on Mildred’s head.

“G-Gwendolyn--” Mildred tries, but Gwendolyn shushes her.

“Save your energy,” Gwendolyn instructs, prying the skates off Mildred’s soaking feet. She takes Mildred’s pulse. “It’s not too slow but I want you checked out for hypothermia just in case.”

Mildred whines, near tears, as Gwendolyn pulls her up and half-carries her to the car. “I j-just…w-want…to…g-go _h-home_ ,” she whimpers, “wh-where…it’s… _w-warm_.”

“And we will, sweet girl,” Gwendolyn says, settling Mildred in the passenger seat, “we’ll go home and you can have all the cozy blankets and hot chocolate you want. But hospital first.”

Gwendolyn moves to the driver’s side and slams the door shut behind her. They race to the hospital. Gwendolyn doesn’t go the speed limit the entire time, despite Mildred insisting that they’re going to get a ticket. Gwendolyn will hit any police officer who dares pull them over. She tells Mildred so, and Mildred has just enough presence of mind to roll her eyes. She starts to drift off when they’ve driven about five miles, and when Gwendolyn notices she sharply says, “Mildred, you _need_ to stay _awake_.”

Mildred jumps and gives Gwendolyn a wounded look. “Why are you yelling at me?” she asks tearfully.

Gwendolyn sighs. “I don’t mean to,” she says. “I just--if you do have hypothermia falling asleep is dangerous.” She exhales a shuddering breath. “I’m…worried about you. That’s all. I’m sorry.” 

The hospital’s waiting room is crowded, and the harried nurse manning the front desk tells Gwendolyn they’ll call Mildred back as soon as they’re able. Gwendolyn’s eyes flash dangerously at these words.

“It’s 30 degrees outside. She fell into an ice cold pond and nearly _drowned_ ,” Gwendolyn snaps. “I think that’s something that warrants immediate attention, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ma’am,” the nurse says tiredly, “there are plenty of people waiting who need medical care just as urgently. I’m sorry. We’ll get to your…friend as soon as we can.” 

Gwendolyn looks prepared to argue further, but Mildred’s hand to her elbow stops her. “Gwen,” she whispers, “leave it, please. This isn’t helping.”

They find two empty seats where they can pass the time. Gwendolyn fills out Mildred’s paperwork as Mildred leans against her shoulder, shivering, too cold and miserable to stay upright. They draw a few stares, perplexed and judgmental alike, but the furious glare Gwendolyn shoots in return is enough to make even the nosiest person avert their eyes.

“It feels like I’m never going to be warm again,” Mildred whispers after they’ve been waiting for a half hour, and Gwendolyn all at once thinks she may either break in half or commit murder, or perhaps both.

Nearly forty-five minutes have gone by and Gwendolyn is seconds away from marching back over to the front desk nurse and demanding that Mildred be seen _immediately_ when a voice calls out, “Mildred Ratched?”

The nurse takes Mildred and Gwendolyn to an exam room at the back of the hospital. She checks Mildred’s blood pressure and smilingly assures them it’s well within the normal range. She then takes Mildred’s temperature, which is 97.4, and Gwendolyn is relieved that it’s not nearly as bad as she feared it would be.

The nurse leaves them and says that a doctor will be back to finish the exam soon. Mildred curls up on the metal table, huddled under Gwendolyn’s outer-layers. She’s entirely too pale and still, and Gwendolyn scoots her chair closer so she can run her hand through Mildred’s hair and watch the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Dr. Bernheim is an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes. He smiles at Gwendolyn and Mildred as he flips through the papers on his clipboard. “So,” he says, “I see that Miss Ratched had an unfortunate accident while she was ice skating.”

“Yes,” Gwendolyn says quickly, “she fell through; I pulled her out as quickly as I could but she was still in the water for too long, I think, and she’s not a strong swimmer besides--”

Dr. Bernheim holds up a patient hand. “Thank you,” he says, “Miss…?”

“Briggs,” Gwendolyn finishes. “I’m her…her friend.”

Dr. Bernheim nods, and something in his expression tells Gwendolyn that he understands what she means and doesn’t mind. He claps his hands together once and raises his eyebrows at Mildred. “Well, Miss Ratched,” he says, “what do you say we get you checked out?”

He has Mildred follow his penlight back and forth with her eyes and checks her pulse. He asks her a few simple questions--where she’s from, where she lives now, if she remembers how she fell, how she got to the hospital--and is satisfied when Gwendolyn confirms all the answers are correct. He listens to Mildred’s lungs and looks inside her ears. 

Dr. Bernheim removes the stethoscope from his ears when the exam is complete. “She’s not exhibiting any symptoms of hypothermia,” he says, smiling widely when Gwendolyn all but bursts into tears with relief. “Her pulse is steady, her speech is clear, and she’s not experiencing any confusion.”

He consults his clipboard again. “Her temperature was a _bit_ on the low side, and my prescription for that is lots of warm blankets and tea.” He winks. “I won’t be surprised, though, if you come down with a nasty cold or earache, Miss Ratched,” he adds apologetically, “but the only cures for those are fluids and rest, unfortunately.”

Mildred nods and then immediately sneezes, as though Dr. Bernheim’s words have given her body permission to succumb to the inevitable. Gwendolyn makes a soft cooing noise without meaning to and grabs Mildred’s hand. Dr. Bernheim’s eyes twinkle. 

Gwendolyn all but shoves Mildred into a steaming hot shower the moment they arrive home. Gwendolyn joins her, partially to get warm but mostly because she’s too anxious to leave Mildred alone. Mildred is pliant and sleepy, leaning against Gwendolyn as the water beats a soothing rhythm against their shoulders. Mildred rests her forehead against Gwendolyn’s shoulder as Gwendolyn washes Mildred’s hair and then smooths it with cream rinse.

Gwendolyn waits until Mildred has a bit of color back in her cheeks before she turns off the water. Mildred is still faintly shivering as Gwendolyn wraps her in their fluffiest towel and herds her into their bedroom. Gwendolyn dresses her in a nightgown; not one of Mildred’s but one of her own, high-necked and made of soft flannel. She sits Mildred on the edge of the bed and slips wool socks over her feet. 

Gwendolyn turns down the covers and guides Mildred to lie underneath them. She kisses Mildred’s forehead, which is still colder than Gwendolyn would like. She gets an extra wool blanket from its wooden chest, and after giving it some careful consideration adds another. She takes the box of tissues from Mildred’s bedside table and sets it next to Mildred on the mattress so her arm won’t have to leave the warm blankets. Mildred stares blearily up at Gwendolyn.

“I’m going to fix you tea,” Gwendolyn says, offering Mildred a wobbly smile as she pats her leg. “Try to sleep a little, okay? You need your rest, poor thing. You’ve had a hard afternoon.”

Mildred nods her sleepy agreement as she blows her nose. She winces and grabs at her right ear. “It hurts,” she says croakily.

Gwendolyn frowns and kisses it. 

“So does the left one,” Mildred adds hopefully. Gwendolyn kisses it, too.

Gwendolyn fills the kettle and sets it to heat. There’s the beginnings of a headache twinging in her temples, so she boils herself a bit of ginger as a preventative measure. Once it’s cooled enough that it won’t burn her mouth she tosses it back, grimacing, and follows it with a swallow of whiskey.

She makes Mildred strong green tea with a pinch of black pepper, extra honey, and her own tablespoon of whiskey. She tiptoes back up to the bedroom, mug in hand, and finds that Mildred has indeed fallen asleep. Gwendolyn can tell Mildred truly does have a miserable cold coming on; she can hear the tell-tale shift in her breathing, and she makes a mental note to keep an eye on Mildred’s lungs.

Gwendolyn gently cups Mildred’s cheek. Mildred blinks, then sneezes herself into wakefulness, pouting when Gwendolyn giggles at her groggy confusion. “Bless you, baby,” Gwendolyn says softly, brushing hair back from Mildred’s forehead.

She helps Mildred sit up so she’s leaning back against a stack of pillows. “Here,” Gwendolyn says, and hands Mildred the mug. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

Mildred makes a surprised face upon tasting the whiskey. “There’s alcohol in this.”

“Mmm,” Gwendolyn confirms. 

Mildred quirks an eyebrow. “Are you trying to seduce me?” she asks, teasing.

Gwendolyn snorts. “It’s a good decongestant,” she says, “and I think seduction will have to wait until you’re a little less,” she gestures at her own nose, “drippy, here.”

She changes into her own pajamas and joins Mildred under the covers. She gets the Agatha Christie short story collection she’s currently working through and opens to her bookmark. “Finish your tea,” she says to Mildred, “and then more sleep. Exactly like the doctor ordered.”

Mildred does what Gwendolyn says without arguing, which is how Gwendolyn knows she must be feeling dreadful. The whiskey makes Mildred drowsy and the blankets are warm and heavy on her legs. “Read to me,” she demands in a mumble, tapping Gwendolyn on her arm.

Gwendolyn makes a show of rolling her eyes, but clears her throat and turns to the next story anyway. “ _Mr. Satterthwaite_ ,” Gwendolyn begins, “ _was feeling old. That might not have been surprising since in the estimation of many people he_ was _old. Careless youths said to their partners: Old Satterthwaite? Oh! He must be a hundred--or at any rate about eighty. And even the kindest of girls said indulgently…._ ” 

Gwendolyn’s reading voice is melodic and smooth, and eventually the words blur and blot comfortably at the edge of Mildred’s consciousness, like paint running down a wet sheet of paper. She closes her eyes and lets herself float away.

When Mildred next wakes, some hours have passed. The sun is setting and snow has started falling again. Her ears are throbbing and her throat is dry. She tries to take a breath in and discovers her nose is completely blocked. She sighs and falls back against her pillows. 

She sits back up once she realizes Gwendolyn is draped across her lap and, more urgently, is sobbing.

“Gwendolyn,” Mildred rasps, rubbing Gwendolyn’s shoulders. “Darling, what’s wrong? What hurts?”

Gwendolyn immediately sits up and roughly wipes the tears from her cheeks, even as more continue to fall. She sniffles. Her face is so terribly _sad_ that Mildred’s chest aches. She grabs Gwendolyn and kisses her, again and again and again, until Gwendolyn is able to coherently speak.

“I was so scared,” Gwendolyn finally hiccups into Mildred’s neck, and Mildred’s stomach clenches.

“When I fell through the ice?” Mildred asks, and she feels Gwendolyn nod.

“I know,” Mildred says. She holds Gwendolyn tighter. “I was scared, too.”

Gwendolyn picks her head up and cradles Mildred’s jaw. “You _can’t_ keep nearly dying, Mildred,” she begs. Her chin quivers. “I can’t keep almost _losing_ you.”

Mildred breathes a wry laugh. “To be fair,” she says, “this time it wasn’t my fault.”

“No, because it was _mine_ ,” Gwendolyn wails through fresh tears.

For a moment, Mildred is so stunned that she can’t speak. All she can do is hold Gwendolyn as she sobs. “Sweetheart,” Mildred says, “you didn’t do anything. It was an accident; that’s all.”

Gwendolyn shakes her head. “I let go,” she whispers, “and then you…you were _gone_ and I watched it happen, and if I--if I hadn’t--” but she covers her mouth with her palm, apparently too overwrought to continue. 

Mildred rocks Gwendolyn back and forth, murmuring soft, comforting words until Gwendolyn’s tears slow. Gwendolyn pulls away slightly and gets some tissues from the box on the bed. She blows her nose and then glances at Mildred, blushing and embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I--I’m not sure what came over me.”

“You’ve no reason to apologize,” Mildred says. “You’ve had a difficult day.”

Gwendolyn blows her nose again. “ _I’ve_ had a difficult day?” she repeats disbelievingly. 

“We both have,” Mildred says firmly. 

Rather than continue to argue this point, Gwendolyn changes the subject. “How are you feeling?”

Mildred shrugs. “Not very well,” she admits, “but it’ll pass.” She offers Gwendolyn a shy smile. “It’ll pass especially quickly, I think, if I’m given lots of extra cuddles.”

Gwendolyn lies back down. She wraps her arms around Mildred and tugs her closer. She buries her nose in the sweetly fragrant crown of Mildred’s head and inhales. “I think that can be arranged,” she says. 

They lie facing each other, curled close, like rabbit kits in a burrow. Mildred’s head is heavy and her bones ache. She feels rather peacefully hazy. She listens as the snow turns to freezing rain and patters against the window. The monotonous drumbeat is calming, and Mildred is hovering precariously between dreams and consciousness when she hears Gwendolyn whisper, “You can’t go anywhere, okay?”

Mildred is more asleep than she is awake, but this is too important to ignore. She musters up her last little dregs of energy. “I’m right here with you,” she sighs. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jsyk I was picturing Mandy Patinkin when I wrote Dr. Bernheim, and I think everyone else should do the same.


End file.
